Just A Little Bit of Kindness
by Snowhearte
Summary: .What do you think you're doing?. Legolas roared. .I won't allow this!. .You don't run my life!. Eaia screamed. .I can be friends with Rigoroth if I wish!. .He's an ORC, Eaia! Orcs don't have feelings!. .That's not true! Rig's different!.
1. Prologue edited

DISCLAIMER: (I don't own LOTR or any of the characters, except I do own Eaia and the name Rigoroth.)

AN: This isn't a very good start, but I had no idea how to do the beginning and I had very limited time in which to write this, so… yeah.

Helm's Deep was falling. That much, at least, was obvious inside Eaia's fear-soaked mind. She clung to the wall, nails digging into the stone, face buried in her arm. Something crashed against her wall, sending violent vibrations up and down the rock. She let loose part of a shriek, then clamped her teeth down into her lips to keep them shut.

_I will not scream! I can not scream! Ohhh, I was only here for my birthday!_

And what a birthday it was, too. Very… ah, festive.

NOT!

_Damn Orcs… they sure picked the_ perfect _time to invade us!_

_Well, I guess it's a good thing the King let us come here for my birthday. At least now the Elves can help the mortals out with this. Don't see why though; humans should learn to clean up their own messes. Wait, what am I doing? Where the hell's Legolas!?_

"Legolas!" she shouted out, peering through the miasma of dust and blood. Her fear rose as she waited, trembling, for his reply. _No… oh, no, Legolas… I swear if they killed him--_

"Eaia!" she heard him shout dimly, and sagged with relief. "Eaia, where are you? Get the hell _out_ of here!"

"NO!" she shrieked back. "Give me a fucking sword!"

"Into the caves, Elf girl!" Gimli shouted, his stout legs carrying him past her. "Protect the villagers!"

"But—" Eaia began. "Legolas—"

"Just go!" Gimli bellowed, slicing at a charging Orc. The monster's head whipped away, blood spurting all over the Elven girl's chest. She shrieked at the sudden surge of liquid, lurching backward against the wall. "I can do this!" she yelled. "Just give me a—"

"CAVES!" Gimli roared.

The fear in his own voice was enough to jolt her into action, for Gimli the dwarf was afraid. Gimli was the bravest soul she knew; if he was scared she had the sense to follow whatever instructions he gave her.

So she whirled and ran off, bouncing lithely over the mounds of broken stone and bodies. The smell flew up her nostrils, making her choke: blood, loosened bowels, Orcs. (I mean, the Orcs themselves were bad enough. But now there was bodily fluid and feces mixed in? I don't think so.) She wanted desperately to close her eyes, make everything go away in the blessed darkness of sleep, but then she would fall down the stairs, and what use would she be to Legolas and all them with a broken neck?

The hem of her skirt caught on a protruding bit of rock, sticking out from the wall at a just-barely hazardous level. She was barely halfway down the steps before the skirt pulled her to an abrupt stop. With a shout of alarm Eaia went flying, tumbling ass over teakettle (I don't get that one, my mom told me I should put it in there) down the stairs. She tucked herself into a ball, bones shaking every time she hit the ground, squeezing her eyes tight shut and waiting breathlessly for the final impact. Her breath was knocked out of her before she was half of the rest of the way down; after that it was just a miniature war within to get the next breath down her lungs.

Smacking her head on the ground with a sickening crack, she suddenly found it to be over. Dazed, breathless, relieved and dizzy, she pushed herself to her hands and knees, swaying. She coughed, and tasted blood drizzling down her lips. Blood mixed with sweat and trickled in her eyes, stinging; when she shook her head to get it out the world went topsy-turvy and she fell over on her side.

A hand took rough hold of her arm, lifting her to a parody of a sitting position. She slumped against the person's leg, confused, spurts of pain from her fall wracking her body. Blinking blearily, Eaia turned her head, squinting against her blurry vision. "Leg—olas?" she murmured, trying to get a good look at the helmeted face in front of her. No, it couldn't be; Legolas wouldn't ever hold her so roughly. And was he wearing a helmet when he started fighting? She couldn't remember.

Gods… so tired…

A guttural laugh, one that sent alarm bells off in her head and her limbs weak and watery. "Legolas?" growled a voice like gravel and fire. "That Elven bastard died by my hand not long ago, hahahahaha!" Eaia moaned, raising a weakened hand to her captor's wrist. "Let me go…" she sighed, pulling feebly at his wrist, his words not seeming to penetrate her fog of confusion. "Please…?" "Foolish Elf," the Orc sniggered, pulling a small dagger from his belt. "What gorgeous blue eyes you have. Let me carve them out for you for your relatives to keep on the shelf forever, mourning your memory, haha!"

_Those_ words did something to cut through to her. Eaia struggled to a better position, pulling at her arm, screaming, screaming. Weak as she was, the effect was the same as a kitten struggling with an eagle. Laughing wildly, face twisted in an expression of sick amusement, the Orc slowly and slowly brought the tiny knife closer to her face, inch by terrifying inch. "NO!" Eaia shrieked. "Legolas! Legolas! Gimli! Someone please help me!" "No one can hear you, no one can hear you!!" the Orc sang gruesomely, bringing the knife in little circles towards her right eye. "Hahahahah—"

He jerked, a great tremor convulsing his entire body, his chuckling cut off as though with a pair of scissors. The gristly laughter on his face turned to shock, then to pain, and he fell forward onto Eaia, crushing her against the pile of rocks.

The feeling was the strangest thing. She felt the tiny knife slide into her eye, felt every inch of it go through the iris, yet not a single shred of pain was felt. She heard herself gasp, then shriek, as though from very far away, a single long loud cry that cut through the battle around her, like the blade that was now embedded in her eye. Dimly, she heard Legolas' voice, crying out her name, Gimli's name, Aragorn's name. Someone shoved the Orc off her; someone's hands were grabbing her, and then nothing. Nothing but a deep, all-encompassing blackness. She snatched it gratefully, pulling herself down into blissful oblivion, where nothing was felt, nothing was seen and, best of all, nothing was heard.


	2. Waking Up

DISCLAIMER: (I don't own LOTR or any of the characters, except I do own Eaia and the name Rigoroth.)

AN: Hi again! I damn well hope this chapter is better than the last one, because that prologue sucked ASS!

_What… happened…? Where… am I?_

Numbness, all across the right side of her face. Nude, under the crisp soft bedclothes. A small patch of warmth, on her chest just below her breasts, slowly climbing north in the direction of her chin. Softness, pressed against her bare right leg; upon further investigation by her hand it turned out to be a cat, sprawled beside her and purring softly in the sunlight. She stroked its head gently, bewilderedly, and the purr gradually grew in volume.

_Where is this…? What happened to… me? The Orc… Legolas… my eye… my eye!_

Forcing out a gasp that sounded more like a sob than anything, Eaia lurched upward. Her upper body didn't seem to want to move; she scrabbled at the wall next to her in wild panic, burying her nails into the plaster, pulling herself up. The cat, its nap disturbed, yowled, leaping from the bed. Eaia took no notice of it.

She slapped a hand up to her face, feeling the white gauziness of the bandages wrapped there. Slowly, gingerly, she opened her left eye, flicking it all around the room; small, airy, sunny, built of white plaster and gold-accentuated tapestries on the wall. Simple rugs on the floor. Cedar Elven furniture. Plain white bedclothes. Eaia's old room at Rivendell, with a slightly blurry tone to it. The cat, a slender tabby, crouched in the middle of the floor, glaring at her reproachfully, then turned away and began bathing herself.

Eaia slipped a slim finger under the bandages covering her right eye, then stopped, suddenly hesitant. _What if it's gone?_ her mind screamed at her. _What will you do then, Eaia?_ "I don't know," she sobbed, face pasty-wet with tears dripping from her uncovered eye. "I don't want to know!"

A light knock at the door. Eaia jumped, then scrubbed the tears from her face and lay back down again. The door creaked open gently, revealing the stiff, concerned face of Elrond. His long black hair looked carelessly brushed, his floor-length green robes messy and food-stained, though to any human he would seem just as neat and immaculate as ever.

"Master Elrond," Eaia croaked, voice thin and high. "I would bow, but am rather inconven—" Elrond held up a hand, motioning for her silence.

"Helm's Deep has fallen," he intoned morosely. "The White Wizard Gandalf arrived too late with the Riders of Rohan." He floated, as gracefully as any respectable Elf should, to her bedside, gathering himself into a chair near her pillow. "I did not want to be the one to tell you this," he said gently, putting a tentative hand on Eaia's bare shoulder. "Legolas is… preoccupied, and the dwarf Gimli is looking after him."

"Aragorn?" Eaia whispered. "What about Gandalf? Merry? Pippin? And what of Frodo and Sam??"

"Patience, child," Elrond told her. "All in due time. Now, to the… current subject.

"I am so sorry, my dear Eaia. Legolas… is now your official guardian."

AN: Not very long. I'll get the chapters longer later. But I have limited time—only an hour—to write these up from scratch a day!! Please don't blame me!! hides from thrown pianos

**PREVIEW: Chapter Three: Healing…?**

"What!?" Eaia's voice grew higher, to the point where it broke off. "Liar! You lie! He… what do you mean, my 'official guardian!?' That can't be right!"

Elrond was silent for a long, long moment. Eaia stared at him from her unbandaged eye, fear and rage spiraling to a pure white tornado within her. She waited for his reply, head spinning.

_Whyisntheansweringcoulditbetruepleasenomamapapakiirosnononoitcantbetruewhywoulditbebutwhywouldhelie…!!_

"Well!?" she shrilled.

"I'm sorry, my child," Elrond sighed, regarding her from sorrowful black eyes. "Your parents and baby brother… they died in the final attack on Helm's Deep."


End file.
